One-Click Buy: July 2009 Harlequin Blaze Read online

  Laci swallowed a frown as she settled back, towelless, on the sand. Next to Drea and JC, she’d always felt plain. Brownish-blond hair, a smattering of irritating freckles and a mouth she’d always considered too big. Fresh, the press was calling her now, which Laci interpreted as code for “not sexy in the least.” Not that it mattered. She was here to surf, not to win a beauty pageant.

  Besides, the press chatter about her looks was a lot better than the alternative. So far, at least, not one reporter had mentioned the San Clemente scandal. As far as Laci was concerned, it couldn’t get much better than that.

  Drea turned her head, opened her eyes and frowned. “Do you want to share my towel?”

  She squirmed a little, digging her heels into the warm sand, enjoying the feel of the grains against her back and legs. “No thanks.” The sensation teased her, reminded her of what she was there for and of how far she’d come. All the way from her screwed-up childhood in Laguna Beach, California, where she wasn’t allowed to take a towel to the beach because her mom didn’t want to risk tracking any bit of grit or grime into their blindingly white, paid-for-with-other-people’s-money beach-front condo.

  All of that hadn’t mattered then, and it didn’t matter now. Laci had grabbed Millie’s hand and marched the two of them jauntily through the glitz-and-marble lobby. They’d crossed the walking path to the dunes and plunked themselves down on the sand, Laci’s six years on this earth qualifying her for elder-statesman status over her four-year-old sister. The California beaches weren’t warm like the ones in Hawaii, but to this day she could remember the smell of the surf, and she could still feel the suction beneath her toes as she wiggled them in the warm, wet sand.

  They’d stay outside as long as they could, cooking under a layer of sunscreen, and cooling off with quick dips in the surf and slushies from Joe who worked the concession shack. Then they’d traipse back to the condo, only to be waylaid by Manuel, the doorman, who’d invariably tell her that her mom had a “special guest,” and suggest that Laci and Millie get cleaned up in the poolside shower and maybe take a quick swim for, oh, another thirty-five minutes.

  Millie was too young to understand, but even at six, Laci got it: stay out of their mom’s way for a while longer, and by the next day, they’d have a few new clothes, food in the fridge and a mother who wasn’t in a perpetually pissy mood. Usually, Laci scored a new toy—which she immediately dropped in the charity box at the grocery store, though she’d never, ever tell her mother for fear of one of Alysha’s famous spankings. Their mom had a temper, no doubt about that. And woe be to any adult or child who looked askance at the way she provided for her kids.

  It had been a surreal kind of life, all the more so during the school year when the other moms would pull their daughters away from Laci and Millie, whispering to their girls about associating with the “wrong sort.” Laci didn’t want to be wrong, and she hated the fact that her mother took and took and took, getting by on looking pretty and having the men fawn all over her. She hadn’t known it at the time, of course, but Alysha Montgomery had been the worst kind of whore, trading on her looks, doling out sex and not doing one damned thing to earn herself a place in the world.

  Alysha had never crossed the line into out-and-out prostitution, but she’d certainly been “kept.” And when Child Protective Services started poking around to investigate how well she was looking after her two young daughters, Alysha had decided that her girls weren’t worth fighting for and had insisted their father come from Australia to pick them up.

  Laci had been terrified at first by the prospect of going off to live with a man she didn’t remember. Then the reality sank in: she was getting to leave her leech of a mother. And no matter what else happened, that had to be a good thing.

  Fortunately, she’d been right. Moving from her mom’s dolled-up condo to her father’s ramshackle shack had constituted serious culture shock, but Duncan had made them feel more welcome in two days than their mom had in their entire lives. Without breaking stride, he’d brought his daughters into his life, and he’d never once complained, even though two little girls had taken up more than their fair share of his four-hundred-square-foot shack.

  They’d arrived during the summer, and while Duncan had sat at the lifeguard stand, his daughters played in the surf and got to know the vendors who hawked food, air rafts and surfboards to the locals and tourists.

  By the end of that first summer, Laci had learned to surf, and three months later—during their first Christmas/summer break Down Under—she’d competed in her first surfing competition, coming out of nowhere to take second in the junior division.

  After that, she knew what she’d wanted to do for the rest of her life, and she’d gone after her goal with single-minded obsessiveness. Her first surfboard had been a present from her father, but after that, she’d eschewed trading product for favors. No way—no freaking way—was she turning into her mom.

  She intended to climb to the top of the surf world, win trophies and world championships and get her face on cereal boxes. And she was getting there on her own merits—her own wins. Or, dammit, she wasn’t getting there at all.

  “Thinking serious thoughts?” That comment came from JC, now standing over Laci and blocking the sun, so that the backlight through her damp hair made her appear like some sort of Amazon surf goddess.

  “Always,” Laci said, pushing up on her elbows and conjuring a smile.

  Beside her, Drea rolled over, joining the conversation. “You looked good out there,” she said, and Laci nodded agreement.

  “Thanks,” JC said, plunking down on the sand beside them. “Hard to believe the first heat’s in just two weeks. I’m totally digging this relaxation time.”

  Laci laughed. “Some relaxation! We’re working our tails off.”

  “Okay, you have a point.”

  “Should we say it now,” Drea asked. “Just to get it out of the way?”

  They looked at each other, then each grinned as they stuck out their hands, putting one on top of the other. “Good luck,” they said in unison. “But I’m gonna kick your ass.” They tossed their hands in the air and fell back, laughing.

  Nice to laugh about it, Laci thought. She wondered if the others meant it even half as much as she did.

  JC climbed to her feet. “I’m going to go grab a shower and some lunch. You guys?”

  “Sure,” Drea said, shaking out her towel and securing it back around her hips. “Laci?”

  Laci shook her head, the thought of spending some alone time on the beach too enticing to pass up. “I’m going to hang here for a while, but I might swing by Da Kine later for a snack. You want me to call you?”

  “Sure,” Drea said, and although JC nodded, there was a shadow in her eyes.

  “What?” Laci demanded.

  “It’s probably nothing,” JC said.

  “Then spit it out.”

  “It’s just that when I was in there last night, I thought I saw someone. I’m not even sure. It’s probably nothing.”

  Laci was bolt upright now, her back straight, senses tingling. “Who did you see?”

  “Thought I saw,” JC clarified.

  Laci crossed her arms and stared down her friend.

  “Fine. I thought I saw Taylor Dutton.”

  Drea let out a low whistle even as Laci’s insides went cold. “Here? Working the competition? That doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t even work for Xtreme.”

  Drea and JC exchanged looks. “Yeah, he does,” JC said. “Has been for a while, actually. But,” she hurried to add, possibly because she saw panic on Laci’s face, “there’s no way I could have seen him. I mean, he doesn’t have any reason to be here,” JC said. “Morgan Castle’s here for Xtreme. I talked to him yesterday.” She waved a hand, as if dismissing the whole conversation. “It was probably someone who looked like Taylor. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No,” Laci said. “It’s okay. Taylor doesn’t mean a thing to me anymore. For that m
atter, he never meant anything. He was a fling. That’s all.”

  They both looked at her as if they didn’t believe her, which made sense considering she was lying through her teeth.

  “Go on,” she said. “I’m gonna hang for a while and then go back to the bungalow. And don’t look so stricken. I’m fine. He’s not even really here, right? And I can totally handle bumping into someone who vaguely looks like a guy I dated a while ago. Really,” she added because her friends still seemed dubious.

  Despite their obvious hesitations, they finally left, but not before making her promise to call if she needed anything.

  She wouldn’t.

  Even if Taylor were on the island—and why would he be with Morgan gunning to score big promoter points with his boss?—it wasn’t as if Laci were still pining for the guy. Yes, she’d been blindsided before, but she’d wised up a lot since then. She’d confused pheromones for love and she’d gotten seriously burned as a result, her surfing triumphs tainted with the sour stench of sex traded for prime publicity ops. Sodding scumbag.

  She’d left him on the beach in California and she’d never looked back.

  Laci was not like her mom. Everything she had, she’d earned. And now here she was at Girls Go Banzai, a competition that she’d only dreamed about, and certainly hadn’t hoped to achieve so soon. And, as Drea had said, XtremeSportNet saw potential in her, when they picked her as the Banzai wild card, and she was going to make sure they also saw a star.

  Of course, for that to happen, she had to get up off this beach. And right at this moment, with the sun beating down on her, that seemed like the hardest thing in the world.

  With a sigh, she wriggled deeper into the sand and said a silent thank-you that the first heat of the competition was still weeks away. JC was right—even though they had work to do in these upcoming weeks, relaxation was definitely on the agenda. Laci loved Hawaii, and although she intended to practice within an inch of her life, she also wanted to chill. Because in the end, the stereotypes were true: a laid-back, loose surfer would do way better in competition than a surfer wound tight as a spring.

  And the news of Taylor’s possible presence on the island had definitely wound her up.

  She just needed a few more minutes to let the sun and sand work their magic on her muscles.

  Feeling utterly decadent, she arched her foot, then pressed her toes under the top layer of warm sand to the cool, wet mush below. The change in temperature shot through her, and that combined with the warm sun on her belly and breasts sent a sensual trill through her body.

  She breathed deeply, enjoying the sensation and enjoying more the fact that she’d gotten here on her own. Taylor Dutton might have been an A-1 ass, but she’d kicked him firmly to the curb. She was here on this island in this competition because she’d earned it. Earned this sand. Earned this chance. And she intended to enjoy it.

  “Heaven,” she whispered, her word coming out on a soft breath.

  “Looks like it from here,” came the response in a deep, masculine drawl filled with Southern charm and ripe amusement.

  Laci’s eyes flew open, and she found herself staring up into the ice-blue gaze of the one man she’d hoped never to see again.

  The man who’d screwed her over.

  The man who’d ruined her reputation.

  And yes, the man she’d once loved with all her heart and soul. Taylor Dutton.

  2

  NICE TO KNOW some things never changed, Taylor thought as he took the brunt of Laci’s wrath. Her fiery temper—not to mention the sexy gleam in her eye—was exactly as he’d remembered it. And exactly what he’d been missing.

  Laci Montgomery had gotten under his skin last year, and he’d never managed to shake her loose, despite the fact that she hated him for something he hadn’t even done. The machinations, sure. But how the hell was he supposed to know that the press would jump to the conclusion that the only reason she was a featured exhibition participant was because they were sharing a bed? It had been his job to find exciting new talent for the competition, and he’d fallen head over heels for the sexiest, most exciting woman that he’d ever run across on the surf circuit.

  Yeah, he’d fallen in love with her.

  And yeah, he’d wanted the whole world to fall in love with her, too.

  So he’d brought her in as a wild-card contestant, and it was just their bad luck that some idiot reporter looking for a headline realized they’d been dating. But so what? It wasn’t as if Laci didn’t know her way around a board. She was absolutely brilliant on the waves.

  He’d told her not to worry about it—he’d even managed to get the press to focus on her skills and rocketlike climb up through the surfing ranks. But like a dog with a bone, they’d refused to drop the sex angle.

  And, okay, maybe it was his fault for mentioning to a reporter that they were dating, but he’d only said it because he was so proud of her. Laci, however, hadn’t seen it that way, especially after the press had jumped all over the story. And because of that, Laci dropped him. In her mind, since he’d been in charge of the media relations for the competition, he took the blame for their rabid reporting. As if he’d intentionally leaked them a hot story.

  As if he hadn’t been falling head over heels in love with her when she’d yanked the rug right out from under him.

  He’d been pissed—no, he’d been furious—and she’d added fuel to his already raging fire when she’d walked out on both him and the competition, leaving a hole in his heart and a chip on his shoulder. He’d been angry ever since. Angry at himself for mishandling the entire situation, and angry at Laci for not having guts enough to face the press and tell them to take a flying leap. Her surfing was what had gotten her into the exhibition, and anyone with two eyes on the waves could tell that just by looking at her perform.

  She’d never even tried to defend her skill, though, and that was the one thing he’d never understood. It gnawed on him, especially since running away hadn’t changed the Big, Bad Media’s opinion. Just the opposite, actually. Her knee-jerk reaction had only increased the speculation that she’d used sex to get her name on the exhibition roster in the first place.

  He’d been smug at first, figuring it served her right for being so cavalier with his heart. Then the anger had faded, and he owned up to being a major jerk. The truth was, he’d pulled her in because she was a damn good surfer, and as a newbie promoter with the responsibility of helping to launch a new competition, he needed as many damn good surfers as he could get. And it didn’t hurt if the surfers were camera-friendly, which Laci certainly was.

  And yes, he’d picked her because she was his girlfriend. At the time, he’d believed he was doing her a favor—getting her name out there and her talent on display.

  It had never occurred to him that the media would insinuate that she’d landed her position in the competition by sleeping with him. He’d been blindsided—he could admit that now—and he hadn’t handled the situation well at all.

  In fact, not only had he not handled it well, but he hadn’t handled her at all. He’d basically told her to buck up, and never once had he simply let her cry on his shoulder. He’d been The Promoter, not The Boyfriend, and that failure, along with all his other mistakes, had killed their relationship.

  But even now—even knowing all that—he still didn’t understand why she hadn’t fought back. Why hadn’t she made a statement or ignored the media or just shown any backbone at all? What he did know was that he’d been a major player in making her hurt.

  And didn’t that feel just dandy in his heart?

  For months, he’d wanted to call her, but he’d been too afraid of getting slapped down again. So he’d stayed away, silently watching her climb back through the ranks, her reputation soaring as her skill on the waves outshone the stench of bad media and cruel rumors.

  But as they both moved deeper and deeper into the surfing circuit, keeping his distance was proving to be difficult. Especially with Reginald Pierce riding h
im.

  The truth was, Taylor was truly grateful to Reggie. The owner of XtremeSportNet, Reggie had called Taylor into his corner office last week and asked if he’d booked his flight for Hawaii.

  Taylor had shaken his head, baffled. “I’m not even going to Hawaii,” he’d said, though he half wished he was. She would be there, after all, and a piece of his soul longed to see Laci again. “Morgan has the ball on that. I’m heading down to Sydney to get things in place for Danger.” The Danger Down Under event was a brand-new competition that XtremeSportNet had dreamed up, and against all odds, Reggie had decided to put Taylor in the driver’s seat. As assignments went, if Taylor could pull it off, this one would ensure that his career was destined for top management.

  Taylor most definitely intended to pull it off. And in a big, big way.

  He had his media lined up, his cosponsors and his headlining surfers. So Taylor couldn’t imagine why Reggie wanted him to waste even a minute in Hawaii when he needed to be at the far end of the Pacific.

  But where Reggie was concerned, Taylor had learned to trust first and ask questions later. After all, Reggie had plucked him away from a competing company only one month after Taylor had worked San Clemente. Reggie had said that he saw a spark in Taylor, a spark that needed room to burn, and Taylor had been working his way up the XtremeSportNet ranks for the last year.

  At this rate, he’d be working at corporate headquarters before his thirtieth birthday.

  Since coming onboard with XtremeSportNet, all of Taylor’s dreams were coming true. The Georgia boy who’d grown up without a penny to his name now had a full-to-popping bank account. Money, respect and a solid career path—everything he’d craved. Everything his parents had never had, and it was all right there at his fingertips. All he had to do was keep his job.

  All he had to do was keep Reggie happy.

  And if keeping Reggie happy meant that Taylor had to suffer the horrors of a meeting in beautiful, exotic Hawaii…well, there were worse things a boss could ask a guy to do.